


Message in a Bottle

by penguistifical



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, taking liberties with the video game lore always
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22890901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguistifical/pseuds/penguistifical
Summary: The bard examines the array of bottles, all unmarked.“What should I bring you?” he asks, experimentally prodding one that looks in firelight like it contains liquid rubies.“Kiss.” Geralt coughs out, clearly trying not to speak more than he has to.“....Really?” Well, if that’s what Geralt wants.a collection of drabbles based around various potions from the video games
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 225





	Message in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> me: I connected the chapters, I finally posted a multipart work  
> also me: you didn’t connect shit, this is a bunch of oneshots  
> me: I connected them  
>    
> I am working through a series of prompts that I chose based on various potions from the video games
> 
> cc: bit of injury and blood/illness description

**Kiss: A potion that offers increased resistance to bleeding and aids in the staunching of recent wounds.** _  
_

Jaskier looks up from tuning his lute as Geralt emerges out of the woods and into the firelight of their campsite.

“So, did you find the bruxa? If not, we can always tr...” Jaskier trails off, seeing the double set of wicked claw marks scoring Geralt’s throat. “Ah, never mind, you definitely found it. Or, maybe it found you?”

Geralt snorts, but keeps both his hands on his neck, holding the wounds closed. Jaskier can wait until Geralt’s a bit more patched up before asking for details.

“Looks like it almost gave you a set of gills.” Jaskier muses, watching Geralt attempt to get into his gear one-handedly. “You ought to keep those for the next time you go after drowners.”

Geralt doesn’t laugh, but he does smile slightly, and Jaskier sees him relax.  
  
He knows Geralt can be a bit unsettled about people seeing him like this, midnight-eyed and bleeding from the hunt. It’s the furthest he ever looks from being human.

When Jaskier had first started trailing after Geralt, he'd thought that the witcher was worried about Jaskier interfering with the silence he needed to track after creatures, and, well, that’s fair, but who would reasonably expect silence from a bard?  
  
But after Geralt’s hesitance in approaching him that first time after downing one of his concoctions, he realized it was actually the witcher’s version of tact, Geralt's uncertainty about how Jaskier would react to seeing him under the influence of a potion or bloodied from the kill.  
  
So, it’s delightful to see Geralt smile at him now.

“Need a hand?” Jaskier asks. “Unless you want to try opening your pack with your feet?”

Geralt gives up wrangling with his pouch of alchemy supplies, nods, and sits by the fire.

The bard examines the array of bottles within, all unmarked.

“What should I bring you?” he asks, experimentally prodding one that looks in firelight like it contains liquid ruby.

“Kiss.” Geralt coughs out, clearly trying not to speak more than he has to.

“....Really?” Well, if that’s what Geralt wants. 

Jaskier carries over the pack of potions anyway, because Geralt will probably need some actual tending, despite thinking he can tough out the fearsome aftermath what was clearly an intense battle.

He understands that Geralt expects people to look at him with revulsion, especially as he is now, but Jaskier would be lying if he said the witcher’s dark eyes and look of a feral predator didn’t make his heart skip a beat.

He sits down in front of Geralt and leans in to give him the kiss he asked for. Geralt’s surprised - why?- but bends forward to meet him.

It’s a bit awkward without Geralt being able to touch or hold him, as he’s keeping his hands on his own bleeding neck, but they manage. Jaskier balances himself with his hands on Geralt’s thighs, nearly sitting in the witcher’s lap as he flits his tongue though Geralt’s mouth, and shivers with pleasure as the witcher gently draws in his lower lip, trapping it between his own teeth in a soft bite. When they break apart, Jaskier brushes a quick kiss over the raised veins underneath Geralt’s spectacular eyes.

“There you are, then.” Jaskier grins. “Fret not, your lovely healer will tend to your every need. Although, really, Geralt, you should probably get some bandages, at least.”

Geralt is smiling too, as if he’s heard a fine joke.

“Kiss is a potion, Jaskier.” Geralt grits out. “It staunches bleeding.”  
  
Oh.

“Oh.” Jaskier says. And then, “Geralt, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?”  
  
After Geralt points to the correct bottle in the pack, Jaskier pours some out on a cloth for him to wrap around his neck, and tosses the witcher the rest of the phial to drink.

“If I didn’t know better, Geralt, I’d think you said it that way deliberately.” He studies the rest of the mysterious array of drinks that the witcher carries with as a powerful liquid arsenal. 

“Do any of the other ones have stupid names like that?” Jaskier asks, and grins. “Can I name one?”

“No, and no.” Geralt says bluntly, but looks rather relaxed, and his wounds are already closing up. 

It seems like a kiss was fine medicine after all.  
  


* * *

**Perfume: Any alchemist worth their salt should be able to craft pleasant scents. It's simple in comparison to any other potion.**

After finding out the difference between Kiss and a kiss, Jaskier pays more attention to the contents of Geralt’s alchemy satchel. It’s only fitting that someone who travels with a witcher should pick up some tidbits of alchemical knowledge and lore.

Jaskier's not going to put it into poetry, but he does like the knowing, and he likes being able to help Geralt.  
  
It’s a major stumbling block to his learning that he simply can’t match Geralt when it comes to the witcher's enhanced senses. Jaskier can’t separate phials by scent, and was absolutely forbidden to try by taste. Once, he swears Geralt picks up a small bottle and taps the side of it, and then nods in satisfaction at the muted bell tone of his nail on the glass, knowing that the brew is done by the difference in pitch.

Jaskier can’t do these things, but he can recognize the maker’s mark of a perfumery. He notices it on a couple phials in Geralt’s bag when passing the witcher some empty bottles. Jaskier had also stopped by the small perfume shop for a few scents when they’d passed through that town. If he’d known Geralt was interested, they could have gone together.

When Jaskier finds a quiet moment to investigate the perfume, he is disgusted. If Geralt wants to have perfume, he should definitely acquire better taste. The mess of a scent he’s chosen is abrasive to Jaskier’s senses, so he can’t begin to imagine what it smells like to the witcher.

He never sees (or smells) Geralt wearing any of the perfume, so he’s not sure what the witcher is using it for or why he keeps it with his potions, but that doesn’t mean Jaskier can’t subtly encourage him to wear or make something better.

Jaskier finds him more appropriate and sweeter smelling gifts, presenting Geralt with dried rose hips, and juniper oil, and, once, an entire braid of wildflowers dotted through with dandelions. He knows Geralt carries bland alcohol for mixing potions, he could easily use that and Jaskier's presents to make a lovely perfume.

The problem is that Geralt tends to use his gifts immediately instead of saving them for scents.

Geralt puts the rose hips into his bathwater, which is pleasant, Jaskier will admit.

Geralt dots his forehead and underneath his nose with the juniper oil to protect himself from more potent odors while fighting something in the sewer.

He’d merely carried the bundle of wildflowers for a bit before discarding them, but had seemed pleased to receive them.

Jaskier’s glad Geralt likes the flowers, but the witcher plainly doesn’t get that these are supposed to be alchemy ingredients, the only ones Jaskier can get for him.  
  
As they go through the next town, Geralt buys more perfume.

When Jaskier opens the bottle for a quick sniff, he discovers that whatever the witcher has added has made the scent even more noxious than the previous vile phial.

“Keep that closed, it reeks.” Geralt tells him, seeing (and smelling) Jaskier's investigation.

“I know it reeks. It smells like thirty flower sellers are punching me in the face by a perfume shop that burned down next to a pigsty. Geralt, why by Melitele are you buying such foul perfumes?”

“It’s a scent marker for trails and campsites,” Geralt explains. “With a bit of it dabbed on trees or the ground, I can easily find my way back in any light, no matter how the trail has changed.”

“Even I could find my way back with this,” says Jaskier. That’s not true, but he is mollified. “Wait, you haven’t been doing that, though. You just carry it around.”

“I haven’t needed to.” replies Geralt, easily. “If we set up a campsite, I can trace my way back by listening to you or your lute.”

It’s an explanation that makes Jaskier feel rather warm, even more so when he sees that there are a couple dried dandelions still inside the pouch of alchemy ingredients after all.

* * *

**Failed Potion: Headache, dizziness, and worse. Be careful.**

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”_

Jaskier trudges back to the small campsite they’d made, where he’d slept in during the dragon fight. Stupid, that had been so fucking stupid. It was his last chance to see the witcher fight and he’d wasted it by sleeping.

But, then again, he hadn’t known it would be his last chance, hadn’t known Geralt was going to tell him to leave.

It hadn’t been for nothing, traveling with Geralt. Jaskier has his songs, his glory, his fame, a story, and it feels like all the lyrics are turning to dragonash and dust in his mouth.  
  
Jaskier grabs his bedroll and gear, and his precious lute in her case. Nothing else really matters.

Although, as he leaves, he sees a canteen of Geralt’s, and he takes that too. He knows it’s petty, but still takes a swig, and then hangs the canteen at his side.

And then the bard leaves, fully planning to put the distance of a continent and a few battlefields between him and the witcher who’d told him to go. Jaskier will grant him that wish, and he won’t even put a mark on the witcher’s arm for it.

Jaskier doesn’t get very far.

His head is swimming and there’s a pressure at his temples that feels as if he’s wearing a crown that grows tighter every time he breathes.

He stops by a small creek that they’d crossed on their way to the dragons, waiting for the sickness to pass and sipping from the canteen. His reflection in the water is grey, and sweating, and looks on the verge of tears.

“He’s wrong,” Jaskier mumbles to his reflection. “This one isn’t a mess _you_ made, somehow,” and then picks up a stone and hurls it into the water so that he doesn’t have to look at himself.

It’s a mistake. The way the ripples move outwards from the impact is making his head spin. He closes his eyes and clutches his face, feeling like he has to, to keep his skull from breaking apart.

It’d looked, he thinks, like he had tears in his eyes in the reflection, but isn’t it a bit funny that his eyes are watering within an image in water?  
  
Jaskier giggles through his sobs and when the tears trailing down his face feel like they’re scorching his chilled skin, he thinks that something might actually be very wrong.

He doesn’t look up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, or when Geralt says his name, frustrated and angry.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says again, his frustration shifting to confusion. He tilts the bard’s head up slightly, fingers resting on Jaskier’s neck to feel his pulse.

When Geralt had told him to go, Jaskier had just left. He’d seen that nothing would reach Geralt, as angry as the witcher was, slinging words like stones. But now, despite Jaskier feeling oddly detached and frankly, unable to stand, the bard can't remain silent.  
  
“You want to know, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, feeling like he’ll fall over if he lets go of his head. “You want to know why every time you find yourself in a pile of shit, why I'm the one shoveling it? You want to know why every time something goes wrong, you find me there? It’s because I’ve _been_ there, Geralt, I’ve been there for all of it, for the bad, and for the good. I’ve been there, with you, and it’s not my fault about the child surprise, it’s not my fault about the djinn, and it’s _damn_ well not my fault you don’t know what it feels like to have a friend at your side, to have somebody who cares about you.” 

Geralt doesn’t answer, but lifts his hand from Jaskier’s neck. The bard feels him gently brush tears off his cheek, and he sighs, and rests his head briefly on Geralt’s palm.

Geralt lowers himself to the ground and sits next to him, like they had been sitting just a short while ago when Jaskier asked him if he wanted to go to the coast. It feels like it’s been years since that moment.

Jaskier’s not sure if Geralt’s going to apologize, but he’s gotten to know, as he’s traveled with the witcher, that sometimes Geralt acts like his whole life is an apology, that everything he does is something to atone for who and what he is. That was true especially before Jaskier’s songs sweetened the public to witchers, but it’s still true now.

And he knows it’s also true that, despite the stories of Lambert and Eskel that he’s coaxed out of the witcher, Geralt isn’t used to having someone at his side.

Geralt reaches for a palmful of water from the creek, and Jaskier, struggling, automatically tries to offer him the canteen.

Geralt stares, and says “That’s mine.”

“I thought water would be a small price for you to pay me for taking myself off your hands.” Jaskier snaps back, and is gratified to see Geralt’s face twitch for a moment into a frown.

“It’s not water, Jaskier. It’s a Petri’s Philter that didn’t turn out quite right.”

“Not quite right? What does that mean? You’re carrying a canteen filled with poison?”  
  
“It’s not poisonous for me,” growls Geralt. 

“Not for _you_ , no, but it’s fine if I get hurt by it?”

“I didn’t intend for you to drink it. No wonder you’re turning grey. How much did you have?”  
  
Jaskier forces himself to lift up his pounding head and look Geralt in the eyes.

“Do you care?” he chokes out, before he has to clutch his head or collapse.  
  
Geralt slowly coaxes him to lie down until Jaskier has his head in the witcher’s lap and Geralt is stroking the tears off his face and gently ruffling his hair.

“I care, Jaskier.” Geralt says gruffly, and to Jaskier’s utter surprise continues. “And, I’m sorry.”

Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s leg.

“I’m sorry Yennefer left.” Jasker murmurs. “But you’ll make up whatever happened between you, I’m sure. You two have a lot of time, you know.”

He feels Geralt tense up underneath him, and he’s not sure what he’s said that’s wrong. Jaskier pats the leg he’s resting on reassuringly. “I mean it. And, until then, I’m still here. After then, too, of course.” 

Geralt sighs and resumes running his hand through Jaskier’s hair.

After a bit, Jaskier mumbles, “It might actually be my fault just a little about the djinn.”

He feels Geralt chuckle, and knows that they’re going to be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> "kiss" is actually the name of that potion, so you know I had to use that one. "cat" is also one that I have drafted
> 
> anyway be back soon with more potions 
> 
> thank you everybody who leaves kudos and comments, you are all great and I appreciate it a lot


End file.
